(no subject)
Title: Into the Fray (Pt. 2)
Pairing: C/Z
Rating: R
Warning(s): Lots of angst, uncomfortable situations (nothing graphic or wicked-bad-ebulness).
Synopsis: Both Zeke and Casey adjust to new lives, in different ways.
Previous Parts: Prologue, One
It’d taken less than a week for Zeke to enter into the jail system. That part had been simple, consisting of going to his arraignment and ignoring his mother’s lawyer’s advice--someone Zeke had dismissed from being in court with him--and ignoring the court-appointed lawyers advice.
They’d almost given him trouble for pleading guilty in the first place, and the bench trial had been like a fly buzzing in his ear. The appointed lawyer had worked out a deal with the prosecutors, one Zeke hadn’t given much input into. He just hadn’t cared. The only time he’d smiled was when Mr. and Mrs. Brusseau had sneered at him, telling him that he was a ‘worthless son-of-a-bitch’ for what he’d done.
“Very true… no regrets,” had been his response.
At the end of the last meeting, right before he’d been brought to the small bus that would take him to Noble Correctional, his mother had tried being a mother. It had included the usual things-- ‘I hope you realize what you’ve done’, ‘I’ll be handling the money aspects to help them with the medical expenses’, 'there's a Western Union at your facility, so I'll send money for you starting tomorrow'… Zeke hadn’t even nodded or replied in any way.
The deal was done, now. After six months, perhaps a little less if good behavior came into play, it would all be over; at least for Zeke. With his ‘check-in’ done, including an invasive search, a shower and getting the drill, he was walked down the long corridor leading to his cell.
‘Yea… I know what you’re looking at…’ he thought, watching the other inmates watching him with glares and snarls from the dorm and housing area. He fought back the growing fear and the response of showing tears or trembling limbs as he followed the guard. Zeke tried replacing the nervous, scared feelings with a more primal outlook. ‘They ain’t fuckin’ touching me’ turned into ‘They ain’t fuckin’ touching HIM.’
In Zeke’s mind, Casey would be standing behind Zeke, with the other prisoners here trying to get at him. Zeke would be damned if he’d let anyone near his boy, so it was simple; fight to the death--for Casey and himself--and survive.
“Just missed supper,” the guard told him. He stopped in front of an open cell and gave Zeke a stern look. “It’s free time, now. You’ve got two and a half hours before lights out. Wake up at five, breakfast at six. You know all the work details already.”
Zeke nodded and walked into the cell; he expected the door to close behind him, but since it was the nightly ‘recess’, the guard simply walked away. Now left by himself for the moment, Zeke slapped his small amount of things on the top bunk bed.
‘For the moment’ didn’t last long at all… “That’s my bed, kid. You’d best get your shit off of it.”
Zeke turned and found a young man standing in the doorway. He looked only a little older than Zeke, just as tall but slightly bigger and wider in the shoulders. Zeke rolled his eyes and grabbed his things again to toss on the bottom bed. “Cut the new guy a break,” he said in a gruff voice.
“No one gets a ‘break’ around here, kid.”
“Ain’t a kid, either.”
The guy quirked an eyebrow and smiled wryly. “You’ve got a lot to learn. You look like you could be a good kid.”
Confused, Zeke tried ignoring him now, choosing instead to grab up the magazine and two books he’d brought. Before making another faux pas, he turned to the man and sighed, trying his best to look bored and nonchalant. “Where do I put my shit?” he asked.
“Top shelf, there,” the man said, pointing to the wall.
“Thanks,” Zeke said, grunting as he set his things onto the small stone shelf.
“What’s your name?”
“Zeke. Yours?”
“Rodney.”
“Pleasure,” Zeke muttered.
“What’re you in for?” the guy asked, now taking up a match and cigarette, lighting up.
Zeke could barely control his breathing--it’d been almost an entire day since having a nicotine fix. “Assault.”
“Oh yea? A lot of guys say that just to get the other fucks in here to leave ‘em alone...”
Zeke snarled, his nostrils flaring as he turned to Rodney. “I beat this asshole’s face in with a football helmet,” he replied. “Ask a guard for my record, I don’t care.”
Rodney blew out a line of smoke and ‘tsked’. “Got a bit of an attitude already. That can get smacked outta ya pretty quick.”
“Yup,” was Zeke’s only reply. Now done with arranging his measly belongings, he leaned against the beds and crossed his arms. “If I get shit on, I get shit on. That’s the way it goes, I fuckin’ know this crap. But I’ll be fuckin’ damned if I don’t go down fighting, though. So if you wanna try, we can see what happens.”
“Right,” Rodney said, rolling his eyes. “You smoke, right?”
The abrupt question made Zeke frown. “Huh?”
“You keep fiddling with your fuckin’ fingers, and they’ve got a yellow strike on the thumb and middle finger,” Rodney replied. He took out five cigarettes from his pack and held them up. “Gimmee your margarine pat at breakfast tomorrow.”
Zeke’s face relaxed, watching the man toss the cigarettes and a packet of matches on his bed. He didn’t care if he was getting ripped off--dry toast was nothing compared with the ache in his lungs. “Thanks, man,” he replied.
Rodney just raised his eyebrows and stood back to the doorway. “My advice? Don’t be a fuckin’ wallflower around here. Some of these guys wouldn’t mind fillin’ yer dance card, kid, and I don’t stand up for nobody. Got it?”
“’Kay,” Zeke mumbled back. He took the warning seriously enough--he didn’t plan on hiding. ‘They’ll fuckin’ find me easily enough,’ he thought with a shudder, half with nerves, half with the oh-so-good feel of lighting up and taking in the smoky relief.
~*~
“Here… let me get your sheets on your bed.”
Casey watched his aunt Tammy go to his new bed, holding his favorite sheets and comforter from home. He turned back to the chest of drawers he was busy filling and stared blankly inside of it.
If he’d been nervous to go back to Herrington High, he wished he were dead, now. After his parents arranged a quick transfer from his old school to ‘Grayson’s Academy’ in Akron, a one and a half hour drive from Herrington, it was decided that it was best for Casey to live with his aunt. She had an ‘old maid’ quality to her; the oldest of his mother’s four sisters at age sixty-four, she was unmarried and lived with three cats and a parakeet as her sole companions. Her house was pristine and smelled of burnt sugar, lemon and ginger, due to her tiny business of selling baked goods to a few shops around town. It was both stifling and comforting to Casey, who now stood in his new bedroom… smaller than his old one, but with more windows.
Snapping out of his reverie, he went to the closet and hung up his outfits--his new school outfits. Navy blue blazer, white shirt, blue-and-red tie and blue slacks. There were three in total, and he hated doing laundry. He’d be in charge of this new chore, however, but at least Aunt Tammy had a dryer.
“I know it’s hard, sweetie,” Tammy piped up while tucking his comforter in place. “But I’m happy to have you here. It’s been too long since the last Christmas party I saw you at.”
“Yea,” Casey said, forcing a feeble grin. “Do you still make that sweet potato pie?”
Tammy grinned. “I remembered that you liked that. What do you think is for dessert tonight?” she asked, winking his way.
This did bring a small but REAL smile to Casey’s lips. “Thanks,” he said.
“Don’t mention it. Now, you go ahead and settle in. I’ll be downstairs making dinner. Okay?” she said.
Casey nodded and continued unpacking, while Tammy left him to it. When he turned to finish emptying his suitcase, he saw a calico cat walk in and make a beeline for it. “Hey… kitty,” he said, walking over. She was about to crawl up over the edge towards his last pile of shirts, making him shake his head. “No… no, no, that’s not your bed, for God’s sake…”
The cat didn’t listen. She gave Casey a narrow-eyed look as she began pushing her front paws into the black cloth on top, over and over again--‘making pie’ as his aunt put it. Casey sighed with defeat and plopped down into a criss-crossed sit. “Whatever,” he mumbled. He took some comfort in petting the soft fur of the cat, who began purring and pressing harder into his ‘Alice in Chains’ t-shirt.
~*~
Feeling sick and droopy-eyed, Zeke made his way over to the tables in the commissary--still getting looks, but too tired to care. He now knew why margarine was valuable around here; god damn, the toast looked nasty…
He finally found Rodney sitting with a large group in the middle of the cafeteria. Sighing deeply, he made his way over and spooned his margarine from his tray. “Here,” he said once by Rodney’s side.
The man glanced over and nodded upwards. “S’right,” he said simply, taking the pad from the spoon. Zeke turned away and put his tray down in the spot next to him, gaining another odd look his way. “I said you could sit there…?” Rodney asked in a sarcastic voice.
Fuckin’ great…’ It was either fight or flight, and Zeke had never really learned the ‘flight’ part. “I need somewhere to sit,” he coldly replied.
“And that ain’t it,” Rodney told him. He turned back to his oatmeal while Zeke contemplated this… then chose to sit, anyway.
“Thought he told you not to sit there, boy,” another man across from Rodney said, his voice deep and full of warning.
This could turn ugly at any moment; seeing as these guys could belong to a nice, rough-and-tumble gang of some sort, Zeke sighed and looked back to Rodney. “How much does it fuckin’ cost?”
“What? The chair, kid?”
“I ain’t a kid.”
The other guys snorted in silent amusement. Zeke caught someone muttering ‘give it a few days, we’ll see’ as Rodney turned fully. “Your oatmeal.”
Zeke shrugged and handed it over. “Looks like shit, anyway.”
“Sure does. But it’ll look like prime rib once you’ve had a morning in the laundry rooms, where you’re going.”
Everyone chuckled quietly as Zeke settled into his breakfast of plain, sandpaper-like toast, an apple and milk. ‘This is ridiculous…’ he thought, then added, ‘It’s fuckin’ jail, dude. Weigh it.’
~*~
With the way things were talked about in prison, it wasn’t long before people had heard of Zeke’s morning trade.
“You traded your oatmeal for a seat, boy?” one of the men in the laundry room asked, laughing through the words.
Zeke scowled to himself. Here he’d thought he would’ve gotten some sort of clout with his actions, but he knew how stupid it looked, now. He chose to ignore the two men nearby chuckling at him to get the next load out from the dryers as he’d been instructed.
Jesus fuck, his hands felt like the skin was blistering clean off of them. The heat from the many sheets, clothes and whatever else made him red already, and it was only three hours in. It was true; he kept thinking of how rude he’d been to that oatmeal. Despite its appearance, he wanted to wolf down four or five bowls of it, now. The apple and toast could only go so far.
“Listen, listen, man,” the other guy, wearing a blue bandana on his head, said to Zeke, shaking his head and waving a hand towards him. “Just to warn you--the next time you pay for a seat, it’ll be in some guy’s lap, a’ight? Just warning you.”
Zeke rolled his eyes as he wheeled the large cloth-bagged cart to the long tables. “Ain’t enough oatmeal in the world,” he said gruffly.
The guys continued their chuckle-fest, nudging each other and looking to him with odd smiles. Zeke continued ignoring them while getting his work done--it wasn’t long before the thoughts from the previous night returned.
He wondered what the boy was doing; private school, he’d said, and thank god for it. Zeke had always thought that while Casey’s parents had their stern and overprotective side, they were around, at least, and honestly cared for their son. That much was apparent through sitting with Casey at the Connor dinner table, watching him blow out the eighteen candles on his cake just last month. The love in Mr. and Mrs. Connor’s faces, excited in watching Casey open presents and what not…
Jealous. Zeke had felt ashamed of the feeling, but it couldn’t be helped. But even with the underlying feelings of loss, Casey deserved such things. Zeke could only wonder what life would’ve been like for Casey with the bullies at school and an absent family at home.
But there’d always been that one thorn, reminding them both on how things were.
“I dunno what he’d do… he loves me, but…” Casey had lamented the night Zeke had said ‘fuck it’ and took Casey for his own. The feelings were mutual--thank god again--but for Casey to tell his parents… it’d just never happened. With the way Mr. Connor had been when he HAD found out, Zeke wished now that they’d told the truth sooner. Zeke had spent half the night pondering these things, while missing Casey--so much, so hard, every last piece of him. The smile, the eyes, his stupid, psychotic-sounding giggle…
“Hey! Oatmeal-boy, you planning on workin’ through lunch?”
Zeke snapped out of his daydreaming and looked to the two men. “Huh… what?”
“Lunchtime, dipshit,” the bandana-wearing man said with a roll of his eyes.
~*~
“Here again, huh?”
Zeke glanced up from devouring his roll--accompanied with margarine this time--and raised his eyebrows at Rodney, who was putting his tray down next to Zeke’s. “What? I bought the fuckin’ chair.”
“For breakfast, yea,” Rodney replied.
“Him again, huh?” one of the men from that morning said while sitting down across from Zeke.
“The oatmeal here ain’t THAT good, kid,” Rodney said.
“Neither’s the seat.”
A few guys ‘oohed’ with interest. Rodney looked to them then back at Zeke with a wry smile, then sat down and sighed. Zeke hoped that would be the end of it… but it wasn’t, of course. “Seemed like you had some nice dreams last night, kid,” he started while opening his juice. “Bet you didn’t know you talked in your sleep.”
Zeke felt his skin go hot, especially when the other men turned their eyes over to him. “Oh yea, Rod?” one said.
“Yup. It was all ‘oh baby’ this and ‘yea’ that, like someone was in his ass all night.”
The guys all chuckled derisively; Zeke felt his nose twitch nervously. Still, he forced composure as he shrugged. “So I had dreams about fuckin’ my girl. And?”
“What’s your girl’s name?” Rodney asked.
Oh holy living hell… was this a test? HAD Zeke said ‘Casey’? This could prove disastrous. “Beth,” he answered without thinking. “Why, you wanna shot with her? That’ll be a fuckin’ carton, but I’m willing.”
This got the guys chuckling again, but they didn’t seem all that mean about it this time around. Even Rodney couldn’t help a smile. “Yea, keep the seat, asshole,” he said, turning back to his soup. While everyone turned their attention to eating, Zeke wanted to relax… he couldn’t, but he wanted to.
~*~
The worst part had to be that Casey had no-fucking-clue where the sport’s field was here… no bleachers to hide at.
Like Herrington High, his new school had an outdoor cafeteria. But Grayson’s was set in the large, roaming fields and gardens, long picnic tables scattered over them--not next to the smelly pavement of the parking lot. Still, he felt uncomfortable and out-of-sorts as he searched for a place to be by himself to eat.
It all stemmed from nerves and Casey’s growing depression… not the school. After getting off the city bus at the school’s stop, he’d been surprised to find helpful classmates willing to show him what buildings he needed to go to. People here seemed calm and casual, even if it was damned clear who the more wealthy students were. There were more laughs than angry yells in the halls, the students seeming eager and excited over activities--even their classes.
A girl had even given Casey ‘the eyes’ when he was introduced to his physics class, third period. It was as if MaryBeth had returned and taken everyone’s cynicism, anger and frustration away. To top it all off, no one recognized him. Perhaps ‘Casey Connor’ was a common enough name to go unnoticed, but it’d surprised Casey; a good surprise, as he’d not wanted any attention--at all.
He finally saw a vacant, shady spot by some oak trees and sauntered over. A small group of guys passed by, tossing a football between each other. The deepest, darkest fears almost reared up and made Casey recoil… almost. The smiles on the boys’ faces seemed real and happy, not menacing or cruel as Casey had grown used to over the years, so he relaxed against the tree and opened his lunch.
He smiled a little; one good thing about living with his aunt was going to be the meals, most definitely. He pulled out the deli-style-looking roast beef sandwich, a small thermos filled with fresh-squeezed orange juice, a large pickle and the most delicious looking sugar cookie he’d ever seen. His appetite perked up with the sight of such foods sitting before him.
He was finished with the sandwich and pickle quickly, but he stopped when he looked at the cookie. ‘I wonder… if Zeke gets good desserts where he is,’ he thought. With a swallow, he shook his head at his own inner question. A good dessert where Zeke was probably meant an extra smidgen of fake whipped cream on watery Jell-O. Thinking of this, Casey almost stood up to throw the cookie away… after all, how could he enjoy things like this with Zeke suffering? Suffering because of him…?
But that would be a waste, as well. Everything felt that way, nowadays. With a sad sigh, Casey wrapped it back up and put it in his bag. Maybe he’d come across some kid who wouldn’t mind a surprise dessert someday.
~*~
At the sound of the bell signifying the end of the day, everyone was practically jumping to the door in one hop.
“Class--class, hold on one moment!”
Casey sat back, listening to everyone groan as the ‘History of the Arts’ teacher, Mr. Alton, held up his hands and raised his eyebrows. “Read the rest of chapter twenty and do the exercises on the last page to bring in tomorrow. Now, get out,” he quickly said, looking amused.
Everyone truly piled out then, meeting the hubbub of the hall. Casey zipped up his bag and walked down the aisle.
“Mr. Connor… hold on a moment,” Mr. Alton said. Casey stopped and turned as the man approached him, wearing a smile. “Sorry to keep you from leaving--just a minute of your time.”
“Okay,” Casey replied.
“I saw a small section of your transcript, and it’d said that you’d been involved in photography at your last school…?”
“Oh… yea,” Casey said.
Mr. Alton smiled. “I just thought that I’d let you know--there’s a photography club they run on Wednesday nights, here at the school. They do things for our own school paper, plus have some work featured in the ‘Akron Gazette’,” he explained. “You’d be joining a little late, but I’m sure they’d take you on for the rest of the semester.”
Casey blinked and looked away. He had gotten a new camera from his parents, replacing the one that had been destroyed… and he was itching to play around with it. But guilt crept in, yet again. “I’m sorry--but um, my week’s usually pretty busy at home. I’d rather just concentrate on my studies to catch up with everyone else,” he replied.
“Oh, all right. The offer’s always open, as they’re always a bit short-handed,” Mr. Alton said with a smile. “Get back to me on it any time.”
“Sure… thanks,” Casey said. He gave the man a small nod, left the room and headed down the hallway. The sun seemed brighter than it’d been during lunch; he put on his sunglasses and trudged past the main gate of the school. His slow steps shifted to triple-time to make it to the corner, getting to the bus seconds before the doors closed.
Pairing: C/Z
Rating: R
Warning(s): Lots of angst, uncomfortable situations (nothing graphic or wicked-bad-ebulness).
Synopsis: Both Zeke and Casey adjust to new lives, in different ways.
Previous Parts: Prologue, One
It’d taken less than a week for Zeke to enter into the jail system. That part had been simple, consisting of going to his arraignment and ignoring his mother’s lawyer’s advice--someone Zeke had dismissed from being in court with him--and ignoring the court-appointed lawyers advice.
They’d almost given him trouble for pleading guilty in the first place, and the bench trial had been like a fly buzzing in his ear. The appointed lawyer had worked out a deal with the prosecutors, one Zeke hadn’t given much input into. He just hadn’t cared. The only time he’d smiled was when Mr. and Mrs. Brusseau had sneered at him, telling him that he was a ‘worthless son-of-a-bitch’ for what he’d done.
“Very true… no regrets,” had been his response.
At the end of the last meeting, right before he’d been brought to the small bus that would take him to Noble Correctional, his mother had tried being a mother. It had included the usual things-- ‘I hope you realize what you’ve done’, ‘I’ll be handling the money aspects to help them with the medical expenses’, 'there's a Western Union at your facility, so I'll send money for you starting tomorrow'… Zeke hadn’t even nodded or replied in any way.
The deal was done, now. After six months, perhaps a little less if good behavior came into play, it would all be over; at least for Zeke. With his ‘check-in’ done, including an invasive search, a shower and getting the drill, he was walked down the long corridor leading to his cell.
‘Yea… I know what you’re looking at…’ he thought, watching the other inmates watching him with glares and snarls from the dorm and housing area. He fought back the growing fear and the response of showing tears or trembling limbs as he followed the guard. Zeke tried replacing the nervous, scared feelings with a more primal outlook. ‘They ain’t fuckin’ touching me’ turned into ‘They ain’t fuckin’ touching HIM.’
In Zeke’s mind, Casey would be standing behind Zeke, with the other prisoners here trying to get at him. Zeke would be damned if he’d let anyone near his boy, so it was simple; fight to the death--for Casey and himself--and survive.
“Just missed supper,” the guard told him. He stopped in front of an open cell and gave Zeke a stern look. “It’s free time, now. You’ve got two and a half hours before lights out. Wake up at five, breakfast at six. You know all the work details already.”
Zeke nodded and walked into the cell; he expected the door to close behind him, but since it was the nightly ‘recess’, the guard simply walked away. Now left by himself for the moment, Zeke slapped his small amount of things on the top bunk bed.
‘For the moment’ didn’t last long at all… “That’s my bed, kid. You’d best get your shit off of it.”
Zeke turned and found a young man standing in the doorway. He looked only a little older than Zeke, just as tall but slightly bigger and wider in the shoulders. Zeke rolled his eyes and grabbed his things again to toss on the bottom bed. “Cut the new guy a break,” he said in a gruff voice.
“No one gets a ‘break’ around here, kid.”
“Ain’t a kid, either.”
The guy quirked an eyebrow and smiled wryly. “You’ve got a lot to learn. You look like you could be a good kid.”
Confused, Zeke tried ignoring him now, choosing instead to grab up the magazine and two books he’d brought. Before making another faux pas, he turned to the man and sighed, trying his best to look bored and nonchalant. “Where do I put my shit?” he asked.
“Top shelf, there,” the man said, pointing to the wall.
“Thanks,” Zeke said, grunting as he set his things onto the small stone shelf.
“What’s your name?”
“Zeke. Yours?”
“Rodney.”
“Pleasure,” Zeke muttered.
“What’re you in for?” the guy asked, now taking up a match and cigarette, lighting up.
Zeke could barely control his breathing--it’d been almost an entire day since having a nicotine fix. “Assault.”
“Oh yea? A lot of guys say that just to get the other fucks in here to leave ‘em alone...”
Zeke snarled, his nostrils flaring as he turned to Rodney. “I beat this asshole’s face in with a football helmet,” he replied. “Ask a guard for my record, I don’t care.”
Rodney blew out a line of smoke and ‘tsked’. “Got a bit of an attitude already. That can get smacked outta ya pretty quick.”
“Yup,” was Zeke’s only reply. Now done with arranging his measly belongings, he leaned against the beds and crossed his arms. “If I get shit on, I get shit on. That’s the way it goes, I fuckin’ know this crap. But I’ll be fuckin’ damned if I don’t go down fighting, though. So if you wanna try, we can see what happens.”
“Right,” Rodney said, rolling his eyes. “You smoke, right?”
The abrupt question made Zeke frown. “Huh?”
“You keep fiddling with your fuckin’ fingers, and they’ve got a yellow strike on the thumb and middle finger,” Rodney replied. He took out five cigarettes from his pack and held them up. “Gimmee your margarine pat at breakfast tomorrow.”
Zeke’s face relaxed, watching the man toss the cigarettes and a packet of matches on his bed. He didn’t care if he was getting ripped off--dry toast was nothing compared with the ache in his lungs. “Thanks, man,” he replied.
Rodney just raised his eyebrows and stood back to the doorway. “My advice? Don’t be a fuckin’ wallflower around here. Some of these guys wouldn’t mind fillin’ yer dance card, kid, and I don’t stand up for nobody. Got it?”
“’Kay,” Zeke mumbled back. He took the warning seriously enough--he didn’t plan on hiding. ‘They’ll fuckin’ find me easily enough,’ he thought with a shudder, half with nerves, half with the oh-so-good feel of lighting up and taking in the smoky relief.
~*~
“Here… let me get your sheets on your bed.”
Casey watched his aunt Tammy go to his new bed, holding his favorite sheets and comforter from home. He turned back to the chest of drawers he was busy filling and stared blankly inside of it.
If he’d been nervous to go back to Herrington High, he wished he were dead, now. After his parents arranged a quick transfer from his old school to ‘Grayson’s Academy’ in Akron, a one and a half hour drive from Herrington, it was decided that it was best for Casey to live with his aunt. She had an ‘old maid’ quality to her; the oldest of his mother’s four sisters at age sixty-four, she was unmarried and lived with three cats and a parakeet as her sole companions. Her house was pristine and smelled of burnt sugar, lemon and ginger, due to her tiny business of selling baked goods to a few shops around town. It was both stifling and comforting to Casey, who now stood in his new bedroom… smaller than his old one, but with more windows.
Snapping out of his reverie, he went to the closet and hung up his outfits--his new school outfits. Navy blue blazer, white shirt, blue-and-red tie and blue slacks. There were three in total, and he hated doing laundry. He’d be in charge of this new chore, however, but at least Aunt Tammy had a dryer.
“I know it’s hard, sweetie,” Tammy piped up while tucking his comforter in place. “But I’m happy to have you here. It’s been too long since the last Christmas party I saw you at.”
“Yea,” Casey said, forcing a feeble grin. “Do you still make that sweet potato pie?”
Tammy grinned. “I remembered that you liked that. What do you think is for dessert tonight?” she asked, winking his way.
This did bring a small but REAL smile to Casey’s lips. “Thanks,” he said.
“Don’t mention it. Now, you go ahead and settle in. I’ll be downstairs making dinner. Okay?” she said.
Casey nodded and continued unpacking, while Tammy left him to it. When he turned to finish emptying his suitcase, he saw a calico cat walk in and make a beeline for it. “Hey… kitty,” he said, walking over. She was about to crawl up over the edge towards his last pile of shirts, making him shake his head. “No… no, no, that’s not your bed, for God’s sake…”
The cat didn’t listen. She gave Casey a narrow-eyed look as she began pushing her front paws into the black cloth on top, over and over again--‘making pie’ as his aunt put it. Casey sighed with defeat and plopped down into a criss-crossed sit. “Whatever,” he mumbled. He took some comfort in petting the soft fur of the cat, who began purring and pressing harder into his ‘Alice in Chains’ t-shirt.
~*~
Feeling sick and droopy-eyed, Zeke made his way over to the tables in the commissary--still getting looks, but too tired to care. He now knew why margarine was valuable around here; god damn, the toast looked nasty…
He finally found Rodney sitting with a large group in the middle of the cafeteria. Sighing deeply, he made his way over and spooned his margarine from his tray. “Here,” he said once by Rodney’s side.
The man glanced over and nodded upwards. “S’right,” he said simply, taking the pad from the spoon. Zeke turned away and put his tray down in the spot next to him, gaining another odd look his way. “I said you could sit there…?” Rodney asked in a sarcastic voice.
Fuckin’ great…’ It was either fight or flight, and Zeke had never really learned the ‘flight’ part. “I need somewhere to sit,” he coldly replied.
“And that ain’t it,” Rodney told him. He turned back to his oatmeal while Zeke contemplated this… then chose to sit, anyway.
“Thought he told you not to sit there, boy,” another man across from Rodney said, his voice deep and full of warning.
This could turn ugly at any moment; seeing as these guys could belong to a nice, rough-and-tumble gang of some sort, Zeke sighed and looked back to Rodney. “How much does it fuckin’ cost?”
“What? The chair, kid?”
“I ain’t a kid.”
The other guys snorted in silent amusement. Zeke caught someone muttering ‘give it a few days, we’ll see’ as Rodney turned fully. “Your oatmeal.”
Zeke shrugged and handed it over. “Looks like shit, anyway.”
“Sure does. But it’ll look like prime rib once you’ve had a morning in the laundry rooms, where you’re going.”
Everyone chuckled quietly as Zeke settled into his breakfast of plain, sandpaper-like toast, an apple and milk. ‘This is ridiculous…’ he thought, then added, ‘It’s fuckin’ jail, dude. Weigh it.’
~*~
With the way things were talked about in prison, it wasn’t long before people had heard of Zeke’s morning trade.
“You traded your oatmeal for a seat, boy?” one of the men in the laundry room asked, laughing through the words.
Zeke scowled to himself. Here he’d thought he would’ve gotten some sort of clout with his actions, but he knew how stupid it looked, now. He chose to ignore the two men nearby chuckling at him to get the next load out from the dryers as he’d been instructed.
Jesus fuck, his hands felt like the skin was blistering clean off of them. The heat from the many sheets, clothes and whatever else made him red already, and it was only three hours in. It was true; he kept thinking of how rude he’d been to that oatmeal. Despite its appearance, he wanted to wolf down four or five bowls of it, now. The apple and toast could only go so far.
“Listen, listen, man,” the other guy, wearing a blue bandana on his head, said to Zeke, shaking his head and waving a hand towards him. “Just to warn you--the next time you pay for a seat, it’ll be in some guy’s lap, a’ight? Just warning you.”
Zeke rolled his eyes as he wheeled the large cloth-bagged cart to the long tables. “Ain’t enough oatmeal in the world,” he said gruffly.
The guys continued their chuckle-fest, nudging each other and looking to him with odd smiles. Zeke continued ignoring them while getting his work done--it wasn’t long before the thoughts from the previous night returned.
He wondered what the boy was doing; private school, he’d said, and thank god for it. Zeke had always thought that while Casey’s parents had their stern and overprotective side, they were around, at least, and honestly cared for their son. That much was apparent through sitting with Casey at the Connor dinner table, watching him blow out the eighteen candles on his cake just last month. The love in Mr. and Mrs. Connor’s faces, excited in watching Casey open presents and what not…
Jealous. Zeke had felt ashamed of the feeling, but it couldn’t be helped. But even with the underlying feelings of loss, Casey deserved such things. Zeke could only wonder what life would’ve been like for Casey with the bullies at school and an absent family at home.
But there’d always been that one thorn, reminding them both on how things were.
“I dunno what he’d do… he loves me, but…” Casey had lamented the night Zeke had said ‘fuck it’ and took Casey for his own. The feelings were mutual--thank god again--but for Casey to tell his parents… it’d just never happened. With the way Mr. Connor had been when he HAD found out, Zeke wished now that they’d told the truth sooner. Zeke had spent half the night pondering these things, while missing Casey--so much, so hard, every last piece of him. The smile, the eyes, his stupid, psychotic-sounding giggle…
“Hey! Oatmeal-boy, you planning on workin’ through lunch?”
Zeke snapped out of his daydreaming and looked to the two men. “Huh… what?”
“Lunchtime, dipshit,” the bandana-wearing man said with a roll of his eyes.
~*~
“Here again, huh?”
Zeke glanced up from devouring his roll--accompanied with margarine this time--and raised his eyebrows at Rodney, who was putting his tray down next to Zeke’s. “What? I bought the fuckin’ chair.”
“For breakfast, yea,” Rodney replied.
“Him again, huh?” one of the men from that morning said while sitting down across from Zeke.
“The oatmeal here ain’t THAT good, kid,” Rodney said.
“Neither’s the seat.”
A few guys ‘oohed’ with interest. Rodney looked to them then back at Zeke with a wry smile, then sat down and sighed. Zeke hoped that would be the end of it… but it wasn’t, of course. “Seemed like you had some nice dreams last night, kid,” he started while opening his juice. “Bet you didn’t know you talked in your sleep.”
Zeke felt his skin go hot, especially when the other men turned their eyes over to him. “Oh yea, Rod?” one said.
“Yup. It was all ‘oh baby’ this and ‘yea’ that, like someone was in his ass all night.”
The guys all chuckled derisively; Zeke felt his nose twitch nervously. Still, he forced composure as he shrugged. “So I had dreams about fuckin’ my girl. And?”
“What’s your girl’s name?” Rodney asked.
Oh holy living hell… was this a test? HAD Zeke said ‘Casey’? This could prove disastrous. “Beth,” he answered without thinking. “Why, you wanna shot with her? That’ll be a fuckin’ carton, but I’m willing.”
This got the guys chuckling again, but they didn’t seem all that mean about it this time around. Even Rodney couldn’t help a smile. “Yea, keep the seat, asshole,” he said, turning back to his soup. While everyone turned their attention to eating, Zeke wanted to relax… he couldn’t, but he wanted to.
~*~
The worst part had to be that Casey had no-fucking-clue where the sport’s field was here… no bleachers to hide at.
Like Herrington High, his new school had an outdoor cafeteria. But Grayson’s was set in the large, roaming fields and gardens, long picnic tables scattered over them--not next to the smelly pavement of the parking lot. Still, he felt uncomfortable and out-of-sorts as he searched for a place to be by himself to eat.
It all stemmed from nerves and Casey’s growing depression… not the school. After getting off the city bus at the school’s stop, he’d been surprised to find helpful classmates willing to show him what buildings he needed to go to. People here seemed calm and casual, even if it was damned clear who the more wealthy students were. There were more laughs than angry yells in the halls, the students seeming eager and excited over activities--even their classes.
A girl had even given Casey ‘the eyes’ when he was introduced to his physics class, third period. It was as if MaryBeth had returned and taken everyone’s cynicism, anger and frustration away. To top it all off, no one recognized him. Perhaps ‘Casey Connor’ was a common enough name to go unnoticed, but it’d surprised Casey; a good surprise, as he’d not wanted any attention--at all.
He finally saw a vacant, shady spot by some oak trees and sauntered over. A small group of guys passed by, tossing a football between each other. The deepest, darkest fears almost reared up and made Casey recoil… almost. The smiles on the boys’ faces seemed real and happy, not menacing or cruel as Casey had grown used to over the years, so he relaxed against the tree and opened his lunch.
He smiled a little; one good thing about living with his aunt was going to be the meals, most definitely. He pulled out the deli-style-looking roast beef sandwich, a small thermos filled with fresh-squeezed orange juice, a large pickle and the most delicious looking sugar cookie he’d ever seen. His appetite perked up with the sight of such foods sitting before him.
He was finished with the sandwich and pickle quickly, but he stopped when he looked at the cookie. ‘I wonder… if Zeke gets good desserts where he is,’ he thought. With a swallow, he shook his head at his own inner question. A good dessert where Zeke was probably meant an extra smidgen of fake whipped cream on watery Jell-O. Thinking of this, Casey almost stood up to throw the cookie away… after all, how could he enjoy things like this with Zeke suffering? Suffering because of him…?
But that would be a waste, as well. Everything felt that way, nowadays. With a sad sigh, Casey wrapped it back up and put it in his bag. Maybe he’d come across some kid who wouldn’t mind a surprise dessert someday.
~*~
At the sound of the bell signifying the end of the day, everyone was practically jumping to the door in one hop.
“Class--class, hold on one moment!”
Casey sat back, listening to everyone groan as the ‘History of the Arts’ teacher, Mr. Alton, held up his hands and raised his eyebrows. “Read the rest of chapter twenty and do the exercises on the last page to bring in tomorrow. Now, get out,” he quickly said, looking amused.
Everyone truly piled out then, meeting the hubbub of the hall. Casey zipped up his bag and walked down the aisle.
“Mr. Connor… hold on a moment,” Mr. Alton said. Casey stopped and turned as the man approached him, wearing a smile. “Sorry to keep you from leaving--just a minute of your time.”
“Okay,” Casey replied.
“I saw a small section of your transcript, and it’d said that you’d been involved in photography at your last school…?”
“Oh… yea,” Casey said.
Mr. Alton smiled. “I just thought that I’d let you know--there’s a photography club they run on Wednesday nights, here at the school. They do things for our own school paper, plus have some work featured in the ‘Akron Gazette’,” he explained. “You’d be joining a little late, but I’m sure they’d take you on for the rest of the semester.”
Casey blinked and looked away. He had gotten a new camera from his parents, replacing the one that had been destroyed… and he was itching to play around with it. But guilt crept in, yet again. “I’m sorry--but um, my week’s usually pretty busy at home. I’d rather just concentrate on my studies to catch up with everyone else,” he replied.
“Oh, all right. The offer’s always open, as they’re always a bit short-handed,” Mr. Alton said with a smile. “Get back to me on it any time.”
“Sure… thanks,” Casey said. He gave the man a small nod, left the room and headed down the hallway. The sun seemed brighter than it’d been during lunch; he put on his sunglasses and trudged past the main gate of the school. His slow steps shifted to triple-time to make it to the corner, getting to the bus seconds before the doors closed.